Wednesday, February 13, 2013

When my nephew started driving, my sister cried. The first time he left the driveway for a solo outing, she felt nauseous, a little shaky, and even though I wasn't there at the time, I like to imagine she ran to the liquor cabinet and thew back a bit of tequila once her son cleared the fence posts.

Many of my friends have new drivers in their households these days. Many of my friends a just a little freaked out by this fact.

But not me. I'm ecstatic.

Why? Because when I first got my driver's license I was very happy to drive anywhere my mom wanted me to go. And that anywhere included the grocery store. I think you see where I'm going now. Once she has her license, I figure I've got about 2 months before she figures this out. Two months where I can casually say, hey, feel like driving to the store for me? And then equally casually, hand her a list...

Today, after reading a facebook message from an old high school friend that I've recently reconnected with, I began to long for lunch. He wrote beautifully about the lunch he'd made himself - and, because he lives is Switzerland now he ate all sorts of delicacies I can't get here. Well, that's not true, I can get them here, but they won't be the same. Years ago when my husband and I were on our honeymoon in, yes, Switzerland, we became completely besotted with the cafe au lait we were served with breakfast every morning at out hotel restaurant. When we got home we went immediately to McNulty's - down on Christopher Street and bought a pound of Swiss roast beans which we lovingly ground ourselves, placed in our French Press, and over which we poured water just off boil. After waiting the required four minute brewing time, we heated a little milk, poured the coffee, gently added the hot milk and prepared to relive our exquisite Swiss breakfast experience.

It was very depressing. The coffee was too bitter, the milk too weak and we realized that what we had was nothing like our honeymoon - (not going to make the pun I could easily make here) - coffee. Why? BECAUSE WE WERE NO LONGER IN SWITZERLAND. Sure, this is an easily made point, but what I'm really saying is that the coffee we were served was probably roasted nearby, the milk was full fat, unpasturized, and we could see the cow grazing out the hotel window. Things taste best when they are locally obtained. I'm just saying. I love the local. (and JJ, I know you agree) If my daughter were home (and if she had her official license - which she won't have for another few months - not until she's gotten at least 60 hours of driving under her belt) - I'd send her out for some locally made goat's milk cheese from the cheese shop downtown. (You thought I'd never get back to that original point didn't you... ) and I'd make myself a local version of what my friend ate.

But, it's starting to do this:

And I am just too lazy.

I've got eggs, I've got some lettuce, I've got a bit of dijon with some tarragon. I've got a hoagie roll which I can toast.